


Kill

by EleganceFlawed



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:26:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EleganceFlawed/pseuds/EleganceFlawed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To kill the stag, I must become the wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the June 2013 Supermoon. :)

  
  
_To kill the stag, I must become the wolf._  
  
Will Graham lay on his bed, awash in the blue light of the full moon filtering through his windows, mimicking the blue lights on the digital clock mocking him from the side table.  
  
Midnight. Still early, maybe some hope of sleep....he couldn't help but smile sarcastically up at the ceiling at the thought.  
  
"Nightmares and dreamscapes...." the sound of his own voice in the stillness was strange, and he shook his head. Swiping a hand across his face, he sat up, looking around for...something. He couldn't quite place it, but he knew there was something.  
  
He saw it, then, a tiny version of the stag that had been haunting his dreams and fevered hallucinations, standing proudly on his dresser - he blinked. An old Christmas card, with a reindeer prancing cheerfully on the front. He laughed then, nervously. Startled by cheer. Thoughts of sailboats and strong smells and cookies...biting the head off of a soft shape with antlers, still warm from the oven....  
  
He shook his head again, trying not to sink. Then he remembered...the card had come with a gift, a book from a student he couldn't quite remember, a book about dreams, or something...he stood, crossing the floor to the dresser. He set the card gently aside, and picked up the book, still sitting underneath the card the way he had left them months ago when they were received.  
  
"Controlling Your Dreams: Guided Meditations and Transcendence Through Sleep."  
  
He thumbed through it idly, the usual new age fluff filling the bulk of the pages, a few illustrations....he nearly dropped the book as he found it, a full-page black-and-white of a great wolf taking down a large deer.  
  
 _To kill the stag, I must become the wolf._  
  
"Gaining Power Over Your Own Life Through Visualization." He skimmed the pages, his mind absorbing the important information, weeding out the cheerful bits. He never expected to have a happy life, not like this, but the rest was interesting. Guiding your dreams through meditation, picturing yourself with or as an animal possessing the traits you feel necessary to improve the conditions of your life. A wolf wouldn't be a far stretch, would it? He already had a pack...he laughed out loud again, closing the book and letting it fall to the carpet. What the hell, he had nothing better to do as he waited to fall into the thing he used to know as sleep. He laid back down on the bed, lacing his fingers together over his chest, concentrating on his breathing.  
  
He closed his eyes. Nothing happened.  
  
Opening his eyes, he turned his head to look at the clock again. 1:15am. He stared at the ceiling. Time passed, but what did that mean?  
  
He closed his eyes again.  
  
 _girl flesh antler blood stabbing fire darkness fire fire fire blood so much blood hot sweet_  
  
He startled awake. 2:30am, and he could feel the great heat of the stag behind him, even laying in bed. The weight and the scent of it, the scent that was not real, felt huge and ominous in what should have been his sanctuary, his blue room.  
  
He would try harder. Close his eyes and not see fire.  
  
 _To kill the stag, I must become the wolf._   
  
His breathing slowed. He tried to start simple, guiding his thoughts through things familiar - the woods outside. The moon. The snow. He could see it then, parting the underbrush like it was only made of shadows, the great beast, the avatar of his own destruction. Himself, shivering in his t-shirt and boxers, boldly blue against the stark white of the snow blanketing the clearing, the snow that rushed to melt as the stag approached, heat causing the air to ripple and the woods, already dark, to distort.  
  
"No," he whispered, to the stag and to his empty room. "No." He closed his eyes in his dream world, pictured his trusty glowing pendulum swinging back and forth, clearing everything from his sight. He saw then from the eyes of the stag, such a small man in a large dark world, cold and alone in a sea of white, no boat far from shore to cling to. He felt the strength of the beast, the fire within, the desire to crush the weak man.  
  
"No," the little man said, and then again, louder. "No!"  
  
 _To kill the stag, I must become the wolf._  
  
The man dropped to his knees. If a stag could smile, this one did, at least on the inside.  
  
"No!" Will bellowed, jolting awake. 3:15am. He was panting, and wet. He stood, stripping off his soaked t-shirt in his nightly ritual, but then...he itched. First a fear that it would be a burning, but no, such an itch. Deep down in his thickest layers of meat and flesh, he itched. He scratched at his arm first, no relief, harder then, and harder, until long claws ripped the flesh from his forearm and he howled in pain.  
  
 _Howled._  
  
In the clearing he faced the stag, his enemy...and now, his kill. He threw back his head, gasping at the moon, the bright, full moon that felt so welcoming now, not cold. His gaze returned to the stag, which started slightly, taking a pace back towards the darkness of the woods.  
  
Will's vision grew brighter, and brighter still, tinged with a pale yellow. He could smell it now, the beast that seemed so heavy but now smelled only of copper and smoke. He smelled the crisp coldness of the snow beneath his bare feet, and he flexed his toes, hearing the tiniest nuances of the crunching sound it made to do so. He dropped down to his hands, crouching on palms and footpads, eyes never breaking contact with the gaze of the thing in front of him. His back arched, every muscle flexing and twitching and stretching until he was shifting....  
  
 _pain cracking dislocated growling hunger hunger scent heat_  
  
Yellow eyes with pinpoint pupils focused in on the stag, judging the distance. A once-unsure and doubtfully-set jaw lengthened into a crushing weapon of large teeth, tongue heavy and hot with the prospect of a kill. Snout tipped with nostrils flaring, smelling fear. Not the man's fear, the creature's fear. It snorted loudly and took off into the woods.  
  
 _To kill the stag, I must become the wolf._  
  
Will's heart pounded with the excitement of taking control, of driving the thing away....but as usual, his control was false, putting himself in the mind of someone else to have it. Something else, this time. He had to let go to win.  
  
Claws crunching into snow into dirt under snow, the faint sound of clothing tearing, his own heat and desire, the sound of hooves in the distance. Panicked hoofbeats.  
  
 _Chase._  
  
Will shuddered, hard, trying to fight back, but it was no use. The next shudder brought on the last of the change, and everything was different. He was heavy, and hot, and strong. Nose to the air, he howled again, and then inhaled deeply to scent the prey.  
  
 _run run run scent chase chase kill_  
  
There was nothing but clearing and then darkened foliage rushing by as he ran, as they ran, as the wolf gave chase. There was nothing to smell in this place but that unmistakable fearful smoke and blood. He could see it in the distance, started to doubt. The wolf stumbled, and growled.  
  
 _To kill the stag, I must become the wolf._  
  
Will let go.  
  
 _running running faster see it hear it smell it smell it fear feel heat heart hart_  
  
He was on it, then, faster than he could ever have imagined, huge paws sweeping forward at strong but narrow legs. The stag FELL.  
  
 _heat heat fur smoke fire FEAR teeth sinking in hot hot blood sweet blood so much blood_  
  
His jaws were locked in the thing's throat, the jugular shredded, hot sweet blood pouring over his face, into the snow where it steamed. The stag made a sound like thousands of cicadas dying, trapped in a glass box. It thrashed and kicked, catching the wolf in the underbelly.  
  
 _pain ANGER SNAP_  
  
Will twisted his head hard and felt/heard the stag's neck snap under his jaws. It went still, the scent of smoke dissipated and it was just a thing. An unmoving thing.  
  
 _eat_  
  
Will blinked and shook his head.  
  
 _eat_  
  
He backed away from the kill.  
  
 _killed eat sweet hot eat_  
  
He dove face-first at the stag's stomach, tearing at the soft flesh until the contents spilled out and he could take his choice of organs.  
  
 _No._  
  
He didn't want them, he just kept ripping and tearing until the kill looked like nothing but a large scattering of feathers in the midst of a great spill of fine wine, the white bones almost nonexistent amidst all of the pure white snow. He searched for the thing that he was after, even though it couldn't be beating, there it was, in front of the dead creature's face.  
  
He stared the stag in its cold, dead eyes as he devoured its still-beating heart.  
  
 _I have killed the stag. I have become the wolf._  
  
Will shot up in bed, panting, putting his hands to his face, expecting to find it covered in blood and gore. Just stubble and sweat. 3:15am, the clock still said.  
  
What did all of that mean?  
  
He stood, not noticing the shredded state of his bedsheets, not hearing the yips and whines of his dogs in the other room. He felt nauseated. He stumbled into the bathroom, feet feeling wrong somehow, and managed to catch himself on the side of his bathtub. A retch started at the bottom of his feet and shook its way through his entire body, something coming up into the tub. He coughed, reaching for something tickling his throat. He gagged as he pulled at it, a large chunk of black fur. The fluid in the bathtub was a dark red, blackening by the minute. He threw the hunk of hair in the toilet and flushed, standing to run the shower and clear whatever it was he had vomited. His ankle popped back into place as he turned to look into the mirror above the sink.  
  
Yellow eyes stared back at him from under his disheveled hair.  
  
9:00am and the alarm was going off.  
  



End file.
